Sophie Kukichuo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

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To earn a bread for herself and her survived daughter, she became a prostitute, in the streets, two years after the death of her husband and her son in the ethnic violence. She came to media .

Then, bam! Outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me and splashes water all over my shoes. I was like, “Dude, really?!” I mean, come on! I just bought those shoes last week! But then I saw the kid’s face—he was laughing so hard. I couldn’t help but chuckle too. Kids, man. They’re wild.

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